


Conductivity

by SocialDeception



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Captivity, Forced Masturbation, Lucas is a Little Shit, M/M, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 02:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception/pseuds/SocialDeception
Summary: Conductivity is the measure of the ease at which an electric charge can pass through a material. Ethan never thought his high school science classes would come in handy at the Baker residence, but then again he never imagined being strapped to a chair, completely at Lucas' whim and mercy either.Now the clock is counting down, and Ethan is stuck trying to decide what matters most; his life, or his dignity.Tick tock.
Relationships: Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters
Kudos: 9





	Conductivity

* * *

  
The first sense to come to was smell, which was unfortunate given his location. He was only half-conscious, and yet his nose crinkled against the oppressive smell of waterlogged wood and that odor unique to the Louisiana bayou; that muggy, earthy stench of murky water and rotting vegetation that was somehow both half pleasant and half revolting.

The room swayed like he was on a boat when Ethan finally opened his eyes and blinked against the bright light, slowly becoming aware that a mask was stretched tightly over his face. He tried to jerk away, only to realize that the mask - and his head by extension - was fastened to the chair he was sitting in. The only thing he managed was to yank himself right back by the force of it.

Breathing harshly, he tried to make out where he was, and what was going on.

He was still on the Baker property, if the stink and the greying wooden planks were anything to go by. The room was small, looking like it had once been a closet of sorts, and empty apart from the chair he was strapped to, and a TV next to the door in front of him.

Carefully he started feeling over the mask with the tips of his fingers. It was made of worn leather, shackled to the chair by a large hinged metal hoop. By his jaw there was a small padlock, and he yanked on it to no avail.

Trying to force his heart to steady, Ethan strained his head to the side to study the room further, only to be distracted by some sort of contraption by his left hand. It was a shallow metal dish with two cords attached on either side with bolts, leading over to a small box. Ethan glared at it, unsure what it all meant, when -

“Ethan. E-e-than.”

The TV in front of him crackled to life, and Lucas Baker appeared on screen. Not that Ethan was all that surprised. Of course this was all Lucas’ doing, who else would go through the trouble of all this?

“Look at me, Ethan, yeah, there you go. Look at me.”

The image was grainy and washed out, but did nothing to hide the crazy in Lucas’ pale eyes as he leaned closer to the camera.

“Thought you could just mosey on out of here, did ya?”

Ethen frowned, trying to remember exactly what had happened, or where he’d been. Somehow the last thing he remembered was Lucas on the other side of a door, telling him what code to punch into the door. And then… And then…

“Did you pay attention in class, Ethan?” Lucas cocked his head. “Specifically, electrochemistry?”

Lucas was exuding nervous energy, twirling on his office chair, thrumming his fingers against his thighs. He reminded Ethan of tweakers down on Skid Row, looking for that extra cash for their dope.

“What?” Ethan managed, muffled behind his mask.

Lucas clicked his tongue and waggled his finger in front of the camera. “No good, Ethan. No good. Electrochemistry is the study of the relationship between electricity and chemical change.” He sounded like he was reading from a high school textbook, moving the chair he was in back and forth, his skinny wrists poking out from his hoodie.

Ethan licked his lips, only to find himself licking the salty inside of the leather mask instead. He grimaced and tried to flinch away.

“Like I told you, you can spend forever looking for them ingredients, but you gotta go through me.” Lucas grinned wildly. “And I wanna play a little game.”

“Fuck you,” Ethan managed.

“Aw, come on now, don’t be like that,” Lucas chided. “Remember your manners.”

Ignoring him altogether, Ethan started looking through the room again. The chair, the door, the TV, the red light blinking above the door telling him where the camera was. He felt over the mask again, to see if there was anything he’d missed, and he tugged uselessly on the padlock again, before letting his hands fall. Then he glanced back down at the box by his left hand.

“Comin’ together, ain’t it, Ethan?”

Ethan started feeling the chair he was on, moving his fingers blindly down the sides, over badly hammered nails and chipped wood, frowning when he felt a mass of cables, following them as they went beneath the seat.

“I’d be real careful if I were you,” Lucas said, grinning, his eyes shining with excitement. “That ain’t something to be toyed with.”

Ethan flinched away as if burned to Lucas’ great amusement, and his manic laugh echoed through the small room.

“W-what the fuck is that?” Ethan asked, despite knowing all too well what the answer was.

“ _That_ ,” Lucas started, still grinning. “Is gonna come to its explosive conclusion in-” he glanced off to the side. “28 minutes and 15 seconds.” He turned back to the camera. “So you better get a move on.”

He leered at Ethan for a moment, his grin wide and predatory, before covering the camera with his hand. The TV went back to static, and Ethan wasn’t sure if it was an improvement or not, as the tiny space felt as if it was closing in on him now that he was truly alone.

Well, not really. He glared up at the blinking red light. No. Lucas was still there with him.

Focusing on the box by his hand, he found it hammered tightly to the wood beneath it. No matter how much he tried to force the pieces apart, he just ended up hurting his hands. No, considering the trophies he’d found in Lucas’ room, brute force wasn’t gonna get him anywhere.

Forcing himself to breathe steadily, he studied the contraption by his box again. Electrochemistry, Lucas had said, and now that he was looking at it, it did halfway remind him of childhood experiments with potatoes, using them as a conductor to light a lightbulb. He followed the cords as they went into the small box, the pieces slowly coming together.

How did it go? The potato wasn’t in and of itself an energy source. It was simply a salt-bridge between the two metals, allowing the current to move freely across the wire to create electricity. Hell, anything rich in electrolytes would do the trick.

With that thought he started fumbling with his pockets, trying to find something, anything, that could help, but Lucas must have emptied them out before strapping him to the chair. The thought was chilling.

In front of him, the TV crackled to life. “Tick tock, tick tock.” Lucas’ voice seemed distorted, but Ethan ignored him entirely.

Conductivity. Ethan tried to bite down the panic again, forcing his mind to work. He didn’t have a potato conveniently in his pocket, but what about other things? Water? Medicine? It was impurities within water which conducted electricity, not the water itself. Wasn’t that how it went? God, he’d been so disgusted by the murky bayou water, or worse still, the water beneath the Baker’s guest house, but what he wouldn’t give for a bottle of the stuff now. He eyed the shallow dish again. He wouldn’t even need a bottle. A spoonful, maybe. A mouthful.

A.

A mouth.

Salt made water conduct. Minerals. _Spit_. Spit would conduct electricity.

Shutting his eyes tightly, Ethan licked the inside of the mask again, trying to coax his saliva to start flowing. He’d been dehydrated ever since he arrived at the Baker house, truth be told, the moist heat of the place as dehydrating as any day in Los Angeles.

Ignoring that for a moment, he brought both hands up to the edge of the mask, before spitting inside it. He felt it dribble from his mouth and down his chin, but no moisture found his fingers at all. With a grunt he tried to pry his fingers beneath the leather edge, but it was stuck so tightly against his skin that nothing escaped.

With a defeated, shuddering sigh he sank back in the chair, trying to avoid looking at the blinking light, or the insistent static on the TV screen.

If he couldn’t spit in the dish, then perhaps he could urinate in it. As disgusting as the thought was, it would be worth it if it meant escaping. If it meant saving Mia. Problem was, again, he was dehydrated. He hadn’t felt the urge for hours.

How long would be left now? Twenty minutes? Fifteen? Ethan licked his lips. Could he really afford to wait? Knowing Lucas, the key was just the first hurdle, and if he’d told the truth about there being a bomb beneath him, then he’d wanna get away before Lucas had the chance to set it off.

No. He’d have to find something better.

Spit, urine… The thought hit him suddenly, with an absolute clarity. He knew what Lucas wanted for him. Sweat was prickling in the back of his neck, his scalp suddenly four sizes too small for his head.

Semen.

That was why Lucas had seemed even more jittery than normal, his grin a little wider. Lucas wanted him to masturbate, use the semen as a conduit, as a means for escape. Was there some kind of fucked up symbolism in that? Something to do with how he'd mockingly called Mia and him _mommy and daddy_? He didn’t wanna find out. Instead he was breathing harshly, staring at the blinking light over the door.

He couldn’t. It was impossible. He shut his eyes tightly, picturing the mess of wires beneath his seat, Mia’s pallid face as Lucas pulled her away to God knows where.

_Don’t just stand there! Do something!_

Okay. He’d just have to do it. It was alright. It was purely a means to an end. It didn’t mean anything, and no one would ever judge him for it.

_But you’ll judge yourself, won’t you?_

“Shut up,” Ethan hissed, while he unbuttoned his pants, suddenly in a hurry now that he’d made up his mind to do it. He’d just have to get it over with, like an unpleasant trip to the dentist.

The pants were too tight for the job, so he shielded his crotch with one hand, while working his flaccid cock with the other.

It was okay. He could do this.

He wanted to lean his head back, but somehow the mere thought of exposing his neck had his mind reeling. It was just too much like baring his throat to a predator, so instead he let it fall forward, willing himself to relax, closing his eyes so he could focus on memories, fantasies. Mia. That one porno from his teenaged years that he’d never been able to find again.

“Well, well, well, lookie here.”

Lucas’ voice was abrasive in the suffocating silence of the room, and Ethan startled, losing what little erection he’d managed to achieve.

“Now that’s an interesting approach, ain’t it, Ethan?”

Ethan flushed, shielding himself with both hands, moving his legs to protect himself and his dignity.

“Sh. Sh. Sh. Don’t you worry none, " Lucas cooed. "Ain't none but me and you gonna know about it."

“You son of a bitch,” Ethan growled, his neck flushed, but Lucas just laughed at him, like he was nothing but a petulant child. “You set this up, you-”

“Alright, alright,” Lucas put his hands up, still grinning wildly. “You need some help with that, buddy?”

Then, without warning, the TV screen went to static again, before flickering scenes from what looked like a 70s porno came to life. Ethan watched stiffly as two women stroked each others breasts, one of them giving exaggerated moans.

Gritting his teeth, he started touching himself again.

The movie flickered and changed, to a scene of five men taking turns on a woman.

Well, all of it beat staring at the wall, or listening to Lucas’ voice.

Ethan closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of the porn actress moaning. It was easier that way. Easier than trying to tune out the dilapidated building and the oppressive blinking of the red light, letting him know that Lucas was watching.

The sounds changed, the breathy moans of the woman crackled into the squeals of a pig. Ethan kept his eyes closed, pinching them shut so he wouldn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of what was going on. There were wet sounds coming from the TV-screen, and Ethan wasn’t entirely sure if the sounds came from the pig being slaughtered, or the men finally finishing in the woman from before.

This all reminded him a bit too much about his grandmother’s strict Southern Baptist views. Good Baptist boys didn’t touch themselves, because God was always watching. Except this time God was the blinking of a red light, an all seeing eye among the filth and the disease. Ethan risked a glance up at the light, blinking, ignoring the tones upon tones of flesh and red on the TV-screen.

He was strapped to a pew, laid out like a sacrificial lamb, indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. And God was watching. He might not see his face, but he knew all too well that he was watching.

He’d lost his mind. That was the only explanation for it. He was no more a sacrificial lamb than Lucas was a deity. No. This place was the madness. The TV kept flickering, kept switching between porn and violence.

All of him was prickling with unease, still stroking his cock with one hand, the other slowly migrating down far enough for him to fondle his own balls. He had to get it over with. Had to get it done, even if it meant that Lucas could see.

He thought of Mia again. Her plush lips, and her yielding curves. There wasn’t a harsh angle on her, compared to Lucas.

Lucas. The skinny fuck. Ethan had no doubt he could snap his spine like a dry twig if he ever got his hands on him. He had no doubt he could force the man down in the filth of this place, command him to obey with brute force where Lucas only had his wits.

His eyes shot up at the thought of it, his cock quickly wilting.

To his horror, there was no porn on the TV anymore, just Lucas’ sharply angled face. He was all but leering at this point, his skinny chest rising and falling, yet when he spoke, his voice was strangely unaffected.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Ethan?” Then, when Ethan didn’t answer. “E-ethan. I know you can hear me,” with that annoying sing-songy voice of his. “Down to 11 minutes and 43 seconds, Ethan.”

The way he spoke his name, familiar in a way that made Ethan’s skin crawl and flush deeper.

“Need more help, do you?” Lucas’ face was closer to the camera now, showing his feverishly shining eyes, except this time his skin caught the light too, damp, as if he had been exercising.

Freak. Ethan wanted to- he didn’t want to go at the guy with a knife like the other freaks here. He wanted to pound him with his fists, like some kind of primal show of strength. Maybe even use his teeth, and tear out a chunk or two. And when Lucas regenerated, hell, he’d just start all over again.

There was just something about Lucas’ voice and demeanor that made Ethan wanna pound him into the dirt. He acted as if he was superior, that he knew more than Ethan did, simply toying with him like some ancient deity would a non-believer. Well, Ethan would knock him down to size.

He worked himself harder, showing teeth behind his mask.

“Well?” Lucas said, leaning closer to the camera still. “What’d you say?” His voice was suddenly a growl, his eyes focused.

“Fuck you,” Ethan hissed.

“Aw, see, that - “ he pointed to the camera. “I like that. You got some heart, Ethan, buddy, I’ll give ya that.”

It struck Ethan how incredibly bird-like Lucas was, all skinny, hollow bones. He wondered if he’d be able to break him by weight alone. If all those delicate little bones would snap under pressure, or if Lucas was stronger than he looked. He’d hauled Mia away easily enough.

Ethan wasn’t in power now, but he would be. The tide would turn and he’d be out of here, and when he did -

“- Gonna kill you,” he sneered behind the mask.

“You can, um - You can fucking try,” he spat out in a laugh.

He closed his eyes again, trying to tune out Lucas as he spoke insistently and constantly, invading Ethan’s mind. He’d have sooner thought of something - anything - else, but, in the state he was in, there wasn’t anything. He couldn’t control where his mind wandered, and it wandered to the closest object of lust. Bloodlust, but still lust.

He focused on the thought of breaking Lucas’ face and jerked harder.

“6 minutes and 15 seconds.”

“You voyeuristic _freak_ ,” Ethan hissed, but even in his indignance his whole body hummed with electricity.

“Aw, Ethan, but you’re the one willingly jacking off.” Lucas cocked his head, grinning. “I didn’t force ya.”

“Like hell you didn’t!”

Again Ethan was stuck staring at Lucas, imagining all the way he’d hurt him. All the ways he’d make him pay. He was so angry he was flushed red, his hands icy cold against his own flesh. He’d stop him. He’d push Lucas down, one hand on his skinny neck to incapacitate him, the other free to roam and -

Like before he imagined wrestling Lucas to the ground, to pummel him down into the mud. He stroked himself harder at the thought of it. Of bending Lucas’ limbs, pushing him down into the moist marsh. Of tearing Lucas’ hoodie off, exposing his bony chest and pink nipples to the heavens, for all to see.

His cock was leaking, and Ethan put his other hand over it, catching the moisture on the palm of his hand. His right hand was cramping, but he was close, so close.

“Ain't none but me and you gonna know about it,” Lucas repeated, voice low, lacking some conviction. “So c’mon, Ethan. Just _do it_.”

The direct order short circuited his brain, and Ethan groaned, his hips jerking against his hand.

In church he’d clutched the Bible, thinking it a conduit for a faith he didn’t share, but here, down in the filth and the mud, he found the real truth. He was the conduit, his skin prickling with heat and electricity. He came clutching his cock, spilling into his cupped fist with an angry growl.

“Goddamn,” Lucas said, nearly breathless for the first time.

Careful not to waste a single, precious drop, Ethan milked himself dry. Then he kept his fist tight as he moved over to the shallow dish.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Something. Anything. Instead the lid of the box just popped open with an anticlimactic _click_. Ethan stared at it, confused for a moment, before he grabbed the key within. Unlike the oversized, grotesque keys from the Baker residence, this was small and nondescript.

With trembling hands, Ethan unlocked the padlock by his jaw, pulling the leather mask off his face, breathing in deep. Finally able to stand, he tucked himself back into his pants, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“Ethan, Ethan, Ethan,” Lucas said. “I’d expected you to use your blood, not - “ He tipped his head up, as if he could somehow see down Ethan’s pants. “See, I left nails halfway in the wood and everything.” He grinned. “This was a helluva lot more interesting, though, I'll give ya that.”

At that Ethan went very cold, and then very hot. He’d not paid much attention to the nails, too preoccupied with the bomb beneath his seat.

“You better fucking run,” Ethan said, staring up at the camera. His voice was breathy and deep, not yet recovered from his orgasm. “Because I’m coming for you.”.

“Well, if this just ain’t my birthday,” Lucas said. “I’ll be waiting.” He grinned. “And Ethan? Tick-tock.”

And like that, as he covered the camera back up, the TV screen returning to static, Lucas was gone.

With another curse, Ethan staggered out of the room, and down the decrepit hallway, feeling sick with Lucas, sick with himself, sick with this entire hellish experience.

He’d barely turned the corner when an explosion tore through the silence and made the building shudder beneath his feet, burying all evidence of what had transpired.

No. That wasn’t entirely true. Ethan paused for a brief moment as he realized that the only evidence that remained was Lucas, fucking Lucas and his memory of it. It shouldn’t have mattered, it didn’t matter, but… Ethan forced the thought of it away, annoyed at himself for dwelling on it at all. Lucas and this entire place wouldn’t get to him, at least, not before he saved Mia. Steeling himself, Ethan resolved to move on, leaving everything else behind.

Everything except the shame hanging heavy and electric in the air.


End file.
